


3 Magicians Walk Into a Bar

by slackerD



Category: Criminal Minds, House M.D., How I Met Your Mother
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slackerD/pseuds/slackerD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid's had a hard day. Will some scotch make it better?</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 Magicians Walk Into a Bar

It's been over two hours of staring at the 25 year old Scotch in front of him, but Reid can't make himself drink it. Even if it's not dilaudid, it could still lead to very bad things. Intellectually he knows this. He should instead leave and head back to the hotel. Reid knows Morgan or JJ, or anyone on the team really, would be okay with him stopping by to talk. But he doesn't want familiar company at the moment. Being alone in a crowd is much more comforting.

He sighs. Smart kids that get picked on mercilessly seem to be his kryptonite. Just as Morgan's is molestation and JJ's is kids.

"You gonna drink that?" the guy next to him slurs.

Reid looks over. He's definitely drunk, but doesn't seem to be slowing down. Reid just hopes the guy isn't planning on driving.

"I plan on it," Reid replies.

"Well you'll have to let me know how that mind meld shit works out for you."

"I was actually planning on ingesting it," Reid tells him.

"Sure you were kid. Sure you were."

The bartender sets another drink in front of him and Reid returns to staring at his glass. This continues for several minutes before Reid becomes aware of a slight commotion behind him. He can't quite make out the words, but he can definitely tell someone is quarrelling behind him.

Turning slightly he sees a guy around his age in a very nice suit arguing with a cute blonde. Finally she stands and throws his drink in his face before stalking off.

"No. Wait," he calls after her. "I know magic!"

She doesn't turn around.

He sighs and saunters over to the bar. "Scotch neat."

"Magic, huh?" the drunk says. "You must've been desperate."

"You'd be surprised how often that works."

"If it worked more than once, then yes, I would be."

"It's all about the presentation, my friend."

"That explains my problem then."

"You could really use some cleaning up. I'd recommend a suit. It's all part of the image I present."

"Seems to be working well for you."

"No one is 100% successful." He downs his scotch and gestures for another. "What's the deal with him?" the younger guy asks, gesturing to Reid.

"I think it's his first glass of grown up juice."

"Ah, first time the baby bird is out of the nest. That's adorable."

"You do realize I can hear you," Reid says finally.

"I would hope so," the older man says. "The real question is, do we care?"

"And the answer is no."

"I haven't decided yet if drinking will help my current situation," Reid tells them.

"Help what?" the older man asks. "Help you get drunk? Most definitely. Anything else? I couldn't say."

"Maybe you should pick a different distraction," the younger guy suggests. "Give those ladies over there another hour and then I'm sure their beer goggles will kick in. Then you're golden, kid. Hell, I'll even help. We can play a little game I like to call, have you met… Say, what's your name, kid?"

"Reid. Dr. Spencer Reid."

"Really? A doctor? Not a medical one, though, right?"

"No," Reid replies. "How could you tell?"

"Part of the job," he replies. "Name's Barney Stinson. Good to meet you. I could be your wingman for the night if you want."

"Uh, no thanks.

"Leave the kid alone," the older man says. "He clearly needs a drink more than he needs to get laid."

"I would recommend both, actually," Barney says.

"100% success rate for the drinking, though."

"No offense," Reid says. "But as an alcoholic, aren't you a little biased?"

"I'm not an alcoholic. I'm an addict."

"What's the difference exactly?" Barney asks.

"He's saying he had a drug problem that he's supplementing with alcohol," Reid says.

"Oh, well that sounds healthy."

"I'm ignoring your sarcasm."

"Maybe you should see a doctor or something," Barney says.

"I am a doctor. A _medical_ doctor. Name's House."

"House…House," Reid mumbles, trying to remember. "Dr. Greg House from Princeton Plainsboro?"

"Yeah?"

"The diagnostician?"

"I take it you're a fan," House says. "FYI, I don't sign autographs unless your cup size is C or larger. So I'm afraid you don't qualify."

"I heard you were in a psych unit," Reid continues.

"Good news gets around; where as bad doesn't, it seems. I’m all done being crazy. I even have a certificate to prove it."

"Congratulations?" Barney says. 

"Yeah," House agrees. "It's a great thrill."

"I don’t mean to be too invasive," Reid says. It's just as a profiler, I find your whole situation fascinating."

"Lucky me."

"Is it true that you diagnosed yourself?" Reid asks.

"It depends on your definition, I suppose."

"Well, it's truly an honor to meet such a keen mind. I can't begin to tell you how much I--"

"Keep the fan wank to a minimum kid. Too much drool will ruin my shoes."

"Sorry."

With the quiet falling over them, their attention is drawn to a television overhead that's playing SportsCenter.

"It's just it's been a while since I've had the opportunity to talk with someone of similar intelligence," Reid says eventually. "Just a quick chat, maybe."

"Kid, I'm drunk," House says. "You're lucky I'm stringing together recognizable words. I'm in no shape to get into any sort of debate or discussion." House looks at the still untouched scotch. "Though maybe if you drink that. Then you'll be halfway to where I am."

"Alcohol is hardly the most effective way to begin a conversation."

"Actually, I find it works very well," Barney says.

"I-I shouldn't."

"Well, then you're definitely in the wrong place, kid."

"So this is how you deal with your addiction?" Reid asks. "Supplement it with other harmful additive substances?"

"Apparently."

"But that's…"

"Stupid? I know," House replies. "The smarter you are, the dumber you can be."

"That doesn’t make any sense."

"Kid," House says. "I'm going to give you some advice. From one big brain to another. And then, you're going to leave me alone. Deal?"

Reid considers it, but reluctantly agrees.

"Most days being smarter than the idiots around you is a gift. It's all possibilities and sunshine and other positive shit. But some days, it's a burden. It's lonely and cruel and soul crushing. I recommend finding something, anything that lessens those feelings and embrace it. Sure you might crash and burn, but getting there will be a hell of an experience."

"That is really deep," Barney says. "You really are a genius."

"Yeah, comes in handy when I'm drunk surrounded by other drunk morons."

Reid happens to glance at his watch. He stands. "I better go. I'm supposed to be heading back to DC in six hours."

"You gonna drink that?" House asks.

"No. I don't think I need to," Reid replies. "It's yours."

"You're not a hot twenty something blonde, but a free drink's a free drink." House reaches over and downs the scotch in one gulp. "Good luck, kid."

"Thanks."

"Yeah, good luck or whatever," Barney says. "Remember almost all problems can be solved by getting laid."

"I'll keep that in mind."

At the door, Reid gives one more glance back towards his drinking companions for the night. The evening didn't turn out like he thought, but what ever does. He lets the door shut behind him and walks back into the cold New Jersey night.


End file.
